


Courting the Night

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Begging, Biting, Bondage, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Improper Use of a Catboy, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Tentacles, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: “Something tells me the history books left out a lot about you,” Accismus said to the empty air. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder where his senses told him to face. That corner of the room was empty but for a wardrobe, a few spider webs clinging to the topmost edges. Accismus grinned, fangs teasing his bottom lip. “Who would have thought the great Solus soz Galvus was such a voyeur?”
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85





	Courting the Night

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i don't really go here but my dearest yougei is playing this game and ive been feral over emet-selch via fanart for awhile now and figured i'd go ahead and throw my hat into the fanfic ring. i wrote 90% of this in a 3-hour fever dream while procrastinating on a book project, a state that was exacerbated by yougei creating some lovely art of Accy, as we call him, and emet over on his twitter. you can check out the art here: https://twitter.com/yougei_/status/1315603746190028801?s=20
> 
> Anyway. i havent played the game, ive just seen cutscene compilations. if ur expecting something incredibly close to canon this isnt the fic for you. if, however, you're in the market for some good ol' fashioned catboy mistreatment, then buckle up and enjoy the ride.

It said something about the journey thus far that when Accismus felt watched while sitting alone in the room of an inn, he didn’t immediately raise his guard.

It wasn’t a particularly nice inn, so naturally he assumed that the dull sounds of life outside the walls contributed to the general sense of company when none was in sight. The muted laughter of other travelers drinking and eating and being merry filtered through the small space in waves, rising and falling in time to jokes Accismus wasn’t close enough to make out and melting into the background until it formed a sort of white noise that wasn’t even remotely jarring enough to account for the way his hackles rose as he sat on the bed and processed the sensation of eyes boring into the back of his head. 

Accismus wouldn’t consider himself to be the paranoid sort. Frankly, few people who knew him well would. The others had been reluctant to let their precious Warrior of Darkness beg off the night’s celebrations in favor of taking a quiet evening alone, but he’d been adamant, unworried of the possibility of an ambush or worse. 

As the sensation of being watched mounted though, his tail bristling as the weight of an invisible stare grew all the more oppressive, Accismus wondered if perhaps he’d been a little too blase about the whole idea of being attacked in a place like this; something wasn’t right in the quiet of the room. Of that, he was abundantly sure. 

Seated on the edge of the bed, Accismus did his best to remain calm. He draped his tail over his lap and combed through the fur with his fingers, a self-soothing mechanism that helped quell the instinctive urge to put his back to a wall and hiss at the invisible enemy just out of sight. There were only a few foes capable of putting on a show like this, even fewer still that could maintain it for this long without revealing themselves beyond the teasing implication of their presence. Whoever was doing this had a sense of humor about them. That alone narrowed the list considerably. 

“Something tells me the history books left out a lot about you,” Accismus said to the empty air. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder where his senses told him to face. That corner of the room was empty but for a wardrobe, a few spider webs clinging to the topmost edges. Accismus grinned, fangs teasing his bottom lip. “Who would have thought the great Solus soz Galvus was such a voyeur?”

Silence followed the jeer, heavy and weighty as Accismus refused to turn away from that corner of the room. The needling, prickling knowledge that a predator stood so close hadn’t left him, so he knew Emet-Selch had heard. Hadn’t he warned them that he’d always be watching? Perhaps they had made a mistake in not taking that threat literally. Despite his predilection for appearing to them as a group, Emet-Selch had made no promises that it would always be that way. 

To prove his point for him, the waves of unease rose higher as a disembodied voice began to laugh behind him. Accismus stiffened, the presence no longer in that back corner. He whipped around and nearly toppled off the bed in his haste, turning just in time to see the Ascian step out of a crackling portal of pure darkness just an arm’s length from the foot of the bed. 

“Forgive me, dear Warrior,” Emet-Selch said with the grace of a man with manners but who rarely thought to employ them. He waved his hand in front of himself, giving a jaunty bow that lacked any and all sincerity. He lifted his head, meeting eyes. “I should have known better than to toy with the senses of a Miqo'te.”

Accismus gathered himself and snorted at the grand entrance. Emet-Selch looked much the same as he had the previous times they had met, still dressed in all of his Garlean finery and as pristine as the day was long— which was quite a feat in a place like the First. His smile was light and his eyes were positively dancing; whatever had brought him into Accismus’s room couldn’t be anything good, of that he was certain. 

“Fancy that,” Accismus managed, quieting the rush in his heart with a few deep breaths. “You don’t deny being a voyeur, just that you could stand to be a better one.”

“Well, there’s always room for improvement,” the Ascian said breezily. “In my defense, I _did_ tell you I’d be keeping an eye on you and your merry band of heroes. You can’t begrudge me too much for once again speaking only the truth.”

Accismus rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out of his skull. “Right. This is just another show of your honesty, is it? Breaking into my private room, ogling me from the aether.”

“Ogling?” The man had the audacity to sound scandalized at the accusation. He brought his hand to his chest and hovered it over his heart. “I can assure you, dear Warrior, that there was nothing of the sort.”

Again, he didn’t deny the breaking and entering either. Dealing with Emet-Selch was a lesson in reading between the lines; sure, perhaps he didn’t lie outright, but he certainly spoke with careful wording, letting out only what he wanted, obfuscating all the rest. With a magician’s showmanship he twirled his hands and settled them on his hips. Accismus raised a pale brow and snorted. He wasn’t fooled by this little show. He wasn’t fooled by it one bit.

“Alright,” he said anyway, ceding the point for the time being. “Let’s say you weren’t here to ogle me. What, pray tell, brings you in that case?”

Emet-Selch crossed his arms and hung his head, the picture of dramatic despondence. “Must there be a reason? Haven’t I conducted myself as is befitting one of your friends?” He knew better than to allow a pause for Accismus to respond, choosing instead to throw his hands up and plow onward, a spectacle to the end. "I came for companionship,” he warbled, lifting his head to cast a mournful look at the revelry taking place just on the opposite side of the wall. “An existence such as mine, surely you wouldn’t begrudge me the basic need for company every now and again.”

“Then go out there,” Accismus answered. “You’re spoiled for choice with a crowd that large.”

“Ah, but you see, therein lies my dilemma.” The Ascian took a few steps closer to the bed. He tilted his head to the side, taking in Accismus from head to toe. “I’m a rather shy sort, if you can believe it—”

“I can’t, but go on.”

It was Emet-Selch’s turn to laugh. “You wound me as you ever do,” he murmured. “But it’s true regardless. A raucous crowd like that would only see me nestled in a corner, no better for the bodies than if I had remained alone. You, however,” he murmured, his eyes falling to half-mast, “are a far more manageable undertaking.”

Oh, really? Accismus couldn’t help but grin. He crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back, his hands propping him up as he took in Emet-Selch slowly enough to inspire a flicker of interest in the Ascian’s golden eyes. There was one reason to intrude in a man’s bedroom and if Emet-Selch thought he was being slick, he wasn’t. Calling his bluff would be all too easy. Even if it wasn’t, Accismus had never turned down an opportunity to play with fire.

“I think you’ll find me anything but manageable,” he admitted as Emet-Selch drew a little closer, lending credence to his burgeoning theory. “But far be it from me to stop you from pressing your luck.”

“You think I need luck’s help to handle you?”

Accismus bared his teeth in a grin. He uncrossed his legs as the Ascian drew ever closer, settling between them until there was hardly more than a few inches of space between them. “I wouldn’t presume to tell an emperor what he needs,” he murmured. 

Emet-Selch cupped his chin in his gloved hand, tilting it up as if to better take in Accismus’s features. His thumb stroked along his bottom lip, tugging it down to expose his teeth to the air. “You’ve got a viper’s tongue when your friends aren’t around to soften it for you,” the Ascian observed, that indefatigable smirk on his face growing wider when Accismus narrowed his eyes. “Mayhap I’m not the only one with secrets, dear Warrior.”

Secrets, huh? Accismus softened his eyes and dropped his bottom jaw, inviting that thumb to press past his lips and settle on his tongue. Emet-Selch’s pupils dilated; he gave in willingly.

The slick fabric of his gloved finger slid across Accismus’s tongue easily, confidently. The Ascian looked at him with wonder in his golden eyes, and it almost made Accismus feel bad for what he had in mind next.

He waited, of course, for Emet-Selch to celebrate prematurely. The thumb moved deeper, joined by his index finger when Accismus dutifully batted his eyes and hummed quietly, needfully. Emet-Selch chuckled deeply, the sound rolling through his chest. Accismus opened his eyes slowly and swallowed a laugh of his own. 

He’d been lying to himself, he realized as he bit down hard on the Ascian’s fingers; he didn’t feel bad for this at all. 

The change in the Ascian’s expression was immediate and gratifying. The widening of the eyes, the gaping of the mouth, the flare of the nostrils as the pain hit and the truth of the situation made itself clear— Emet-Selch hissed as Accismus locked his jaw down as hard as he could, digging his fangs into those gloved fingers until he was sure he’d broken the skin. 

Only… Accismus didn’t taste blood on his tongue. His brow furrowed as Emet-Selch’s lips split into a mean looking smile. 

“Oh, my dear Warrior,” the Ascian intoned. “If you wanted to play a game like that, you should have simply said as much.”

_Snap!_

Accismus’s teeth sank down on nothing, clacking together painfully as the fingers in his mouth vanished in an instant. He had only a moment to wonder where they had gone before the world blurred past his eyes, the bottom dropping out of his stomach as his sense of equilibrium took a turn in a direction he hadn’t known he’d been moving in. He hit the bed hard enough to bounce, his back denting the sheets as his arms were dragged behind his back by an unseen force. Emet-Selch’s laugh echoed in his ears like rushing water. Still, Accismus tasted no copper on his tongue. 

The world stopped spinning. The room came into focus. Accismus choked and snarled; only muffled grunts managed to make it to the open air. 

It was with a great deal of wriggling that Accismus managed to see what had forced his arms behind his back, and even when he realized what had happened, he found it impossible to yell about it. Matching tendrils of darkness had lashed themselves over his mouth, between his teeth, tasteless but unbreakable as he tossed his head and yanked at his bound wrists. Bridled and immobilized, Accismus floundered on the bed like a fish tossed onto shore. He narrowed his eyes and spat curses despite it all, the sounds garbled and unintelligible. 

Emet-Selch was hovering nearby as he dusted off the front of his clothing before sitting himself primly on the edge of the bed. He held up his hand and looked it over, but no matter what way he turned it, the glove was still as white as it had been when he arrived, barring a few new rips in the fabric.

“Perhaps some measure of luck is necessary when handling you after all,” Emet-Selch mused. “If I’d been anything other than what I am I may have lost a finger to those fangs of yours. I think I’ll consider myself lucky that I only lost a glove to it. I’m sure that’s more than those other Ascians you’ve dealt with in the past can boast of.”

Was that what this was? This— This turnabout? Accismus snarled even louder, spitting every curse he knew and some he didn’t as he fought to make himself heard through the gag. The bastard’s fingers weren’t even bloody! How the hell was this level of retaliation fair play?! 

“Oh, don’t pout,” the Ascian taunted, looking at the puncture marks in his gloves with something like begrudging pride. “After a display like that you’ve left me little choice but to question your sincerity in accepting my humble request for companionship. You gave me your word, Warrior. The least you can do is abide by it.”

Accepted? Accepted?! If allowing the man to stick his fingers in his mouth counted— Oh, Twelfth, in his mind it probably did. Was this his plan then? To force “companionship” by treating Accismus like a captive audience? He’d be privy to another long speech no doubt, perhaps even a rousing show of more grandstanding before the Ascian finally tired of his physical form and retreated once more into the aether. 

How long would that take to happen? An hour? Two? Accismus had made a large stink of needing the evening to himself for some long-deserved alone time; knowing his luck he’d be unlikely to find help until morning came, and even then it’d be unlikely to come before breakfast.

His rampant thoughts crashed to a standstill when a hand landed on his head, right in between his ears. An instinctive jolt rocked through him, his body going stiff then boneless in the blink of an eye. Accismus threw a weak glare at Emet-Selch as the Ascian began to pet him, taking care to drag the tips of his gloved fingers along the base of his flattened ears. 

“You’re much more pleasant to be around when you aren’t sulking,” came the sage advice from the man—creature—currently binding him at the wrists. “Do you really trust me so little, Warrior? I gave you my word that I’m only here for one thing; hurting you was never part of the plan.”

But petting evidently was? 

Emet-Selch laughed a little, reading Accismus’s expression easily even as he traced the shape of a tufted ear with just the tips of his fingers. “I suppose you’re right to be skittish. You and those friends of yours seem so reluctant to trust that I keep my word, especially when I give it so freely. You interest me greatly, dear Warrior. Even before you coaxed me close and wrapped those pretty lips of yours around my fingers.”

Heat stained Accismus’s cheeks. Despite his best efforts, he found it very difficult to bristle and hiss when that hand ran through his hair so gently. Basic physiology worked against him in that regard, forcibly relaxing his muscles and urging him to go limp against the sheets. He kept up a baseline glare out of stubbornness, but Emet-Selch had already won. They both knew it and it seemed that Emet-Selch, thankfully, had the good grace not to rub it in. 

“Like I said before, I have no intention of hurting you.” Those graceful fingers carded through his hair, twirling a lock of grey-flecked white around one before letting it fall against his warm cheek. “I truly did come here for companionship, though I will admit that your brazen invitation wasn’t wholly what I had in mind. But I’m nothing if not flexible, an opportunist as much as a strategist. If you’re willing to suffer my touch, I’m happy to lend it to you for the evening. Your Twelve only knows how long overdue you are for a spot of catharsis.” 

He punctuated the verbose offer with a targeted assault on the space behind Accismus’s ears. Accismus’s eyes fluttered shut as a dull, soothing pleasure rolled over him, turning his limbs to jelly as his purr kindled in his chest, rasped and out of practice after so many days of nothing but stress on his plate. Too much traveling and fighting had left him terribly pent up. It made it difficult to swallow down the sound, but somehow he managed. 

He wouldn’t let Emet-Selch get his way that easily.

Opening his eyes, he flicked his ears and rubbed his cheek against the sheets, staring up at the Ascian carefully. Emet-Selch dutifully removed his hand. 

“Still obstinate, are we?” the Ascian mused beneath his breath as he took him in fondly. “Ever a creature of iron will. You were so inviting before… though I suppose you prefer to play games when you alone are privy to the rules. It makes me wonder, dear Warrior, how well you would do in a game of my choosing.” He paused there, eyes sparkling with the challenge on his lips. “That is,” he murmured, “if you’ve the courage to rise to the challenge.”

Accismus narrowed his eyes, a grin rising to curl his lips around the edges of the aether in his mouth. His tail flicked from side to side, skimming over the sheets with a rhythmic whisper that spoke to his sudden interest. He was being goaded, clearly, but what fun anyway. Emet-Selch was a handsome man; he’d been interested long before this moment and this just served to compound it. 

“What do you say, Warrior?” Emet-Selch cupped him beneath the chin once more, trailing his thumb over the gagged seam of Accismus’s lips as if to mock the fact that he couldn’t bite him now. “Would you care to see which of us has the stronger will?”

This man wanted to fuck him so badly— Accismus laughed behind the gag, closing his eyes as he nodded. He didn’t have anything better to do to wind away the evening beyond sleep or daydream, so sure, he could spare the time to play along. It was just Emet-Selch, Ascian and known arch-villain hell bent on ending existence as they all knew it. 

How bad of an idea could it be?

When he opened his eyes, he found Emet-Selch grinning from ear to ear. “Splendid,” he remarked, lifting his spare hand in the air. Accismus anticipated the snap before it came, but he unfortunately failed to anticipate the Ascian’s intentions. In the time it took to blink, Accismus broke out in a sudden case of shivers, the cool air of the room suddenly pressed against his bare skin.

“Forgive me for speeding things along,” Emet-Selch murmured as he slowly took in Accismus’s naked form. “Immortal though I may be, I find I haven’t the patience to wait for you to undress the usual way.”

Emet-Selch was lucky Accismus was gagged; that crackling band of darkness on his tongue was the only thing protecting the man from the wellspring of curses he longed to lob at his stupid, grinning face. He made up for it by hissing, ears flattened to his skull as his tail bristled behind him. Emet-Selch clucked and shook his head, hardly cowed, and with the raising of his hand and another quick _snap!_ Accismus found the world shifting once more as the Ascian moved him into a new position. 

Said position only served to piss Accismus off all the more. His lungs deflated in a harsh whoosh as he found himself laid out on his belly, draped over Emet-Selch’s lap in a pose better served to punish unruly children than anything regarding intimate acts between adults— be they friend or enemy alike. 

“There we go, easy does it,” soothed the Ascian as he ran his hand down Accismus’s spine the way one might calm a rowdy pet. His gloved fingers ran lower, over the slope of Accismus’s ass before returning to the base of his tail to fondle the sensitive flesh there. A shudder ran down Accismus’s spine. He choked on a reluctant moan. A smile colored Emet-Selch’s voice as he went on to murmur, “You’re rather charming when you’re like this, truth be told. Let me explain the rules of this little game; I trust you’ll listen attentively.”

Well, he hardly had a choice in the matter, now did he?

“The premise of the game is simple: your perseverance versus my escalation.” Emet-Selch spoke smoothly, his voice clear and unhurried despite the targeted paths his hands took to fondle and pinch and map out Accismus’s rapidly warming body. “I’ve no doubt that you’ve a disobedient streak. That little trick of yours told me well enough how you respond to acts of dominance when they’re offered to you freely. Such outbursts can be entertaining when consumed in moderation; I, on the other hand, would prefer to see you pliant.

“How do we reconcile these disparate desires?” Emet-Selch asked, the question clearly rhetorical as he chuckled to himself, delivering a lengthy, weighted stroke down the line of Accismus’s spine. “Simple, really. I’ll attempt to put you in your place. You do your best to fight me every step of the way. I’ll seek to teach you some manners while you prove to me the futility of my task. The winner… Well, I think we’ll both know which of us is the winner when that time comes. Sound agreeable, my dear one?”

Accismus half expected the question to be rhetorical as well up until he felt his back molars suddenly click together, the aether on his tongue disappearing all at once. The tendrils binding his wrists behind his back remained, however. Because of course that remained; far be it from Emet-Selch to give up the upper hand just yet. 

“Think this will serve as a trial run for your master plan?” he wondered, peeking through the mess of his fringe to taunt the Ascian hovering above him. Emet-Selch’s petting had nearly loosened the leather thong that held back his hair, the short ponytail all but lost to the fly-aways. 

Emet-Selch met his gaze easily, his brows furrowing slightly until he looked far more intense than the moment called for. “I wouldn’t dream to conflate the two,” he intoned solemnly. “I already know how that story will end. This, on the other hand, promises to offer far me a more pleasurable surprise.” 

Some of the levity bled away in the wake of those words. Emet-Selch’s gaze held an edge to it that Accismus wasn’t in the mood to handle, something heavier than the settling could allow. Turning away, Accismus blew at his fringe until it settled away from his face. He braced his knees on the bed and struggled to find leverage while draped over the man’s lap. 

“Do your worst,” he said clearly, ending the conversation while he still knew what they were talking about. 

Emet-Selch chuckled under his breath. “Very well,” he relented, taking the change with grace aplenty. “Let’s begin.”

A wave of nervous energy rolled over Accismus at the pronouncement. Begin? With what? He was certainly in a compromising position, stripped bare and spread out over the Asian’s lap like this, but the position also left Emet-Selch with limited options. 

Emet-Selch answered that unspoken question with a sharp, downward strike of his open hand. 

_Crack!_

“Ah!” Accismus cried out, startled as a painful heat began to spread outward, his ass clenching instinctively. His face burned a violent red as he craned his neck around and glared, wide-eyed, at the Ascian. “Did you— Did you just _spank me?!”_

Emet-Selch’s brows rose gracefully towards his hairline. “I’m sorry, but what else did you think would happen in this position?”

Accismus sputtered, averting his eyes. His tail had bristled from the sudden unexpected pain, lifting itself against his back to keep well away from the hand currently fondling his left asscheek. Never in his life had something like this happened to him while in bed. The bindings around his wrists refused to loosen. He curled his hands into impotent fists and wondered what he had just gotten himself into. 

“Pervert,” he muttered when nothing better came to mind as a response to Emet-Selch’s lingering question. 

“Oh, undoubtedly. Had enough?”

Accismus grinned against the bedding, ears twitching as his senses began to key in to the danger of the situation at hand. He couldn’t bow out now, not just after one blow. What would that say to his endurance? Hells, what would that say about Emet-Selch’s stupid game? “Not even close,” he snapped, bracing himself for a new kind of pain. “You just surprised me, is all.” He was prepared now. It’d be fine.

Emet-Selch huffed out a laugh. “Of course,” he murmured. “How silly of me to ask.”

Without even pausing to let his words soak in, Emet-Selch struck him again, first in one spot and then lower down, the sharp cracks of his palm connecting with Accismus’s flesh half the reason behind the way Accismus jolted in the wake of the blows. The pain was immediate, blooming like a burning flower as it painted the flesh and settled into a deep ache just beneath the surface of his skin. 

Accismus snapped his teeth down on the sheets to muffle his voice. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes. He’d been stabbed by swords and burned with magic and driven to his knees in the course of his travels, and he’d always stood back up and pressed on anyway. But this— These smacks… Maybe it was just the intimate location of them, or perhaps even the bindings holding his hands in place behind his back… He felt the pain more like this, for whatever reason. It ached in his ass and tingled through his veins, and strangely, maddeningly, went to his cock in ways he truly never expected to enjoy. 

Thank the Twelfth that he was face down on the Ascian’s lap; he couldn’t hide the way his cock was beginning to react to this, and he had a feeling Emet-Selch’s commentary on it wouldn’t put him any closer to winning this little game than he was now.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, Emet-Selch dragged a hand through his hair while the other slapped him in the tender spot where his ass met his thigh, and Accismus wondered, briefly, if he’d made a mistake in sounding so cocky. He’d never subjected himself to something like this before. Would he have the stamina to outlast a literal immortal?

“What a lovely color this is on you,” Emet-Selch admired in between harsh blows. Accismus blinked weakly, unable to look but already knowing that the Ascian was referring to the state of his backside. The fucking pervert. “Much more of this and you’ll have some beautiful bruises here. My, my, won’t that make traveling fun. Will they notice, I wonder? Those friends of yours. If they asked, would you tell them who you let wound you in such an intimate way?” 

Emet-Selch sucked in a breath, belying the patient tone he’d taken up until now. “Would you tell them the name of the one you let dominate you so utterly?”

Gods. “You want to fuck me so bad that it makes you stupid,” Accismus groaned, skin burning as that gloved hand dragged over the still stinging hand print staining his pale skin a violent red. “Horny fucking Ascian. You... You think you can break me with this?” He snorted, the sound dulled by the choked yelp that came as Emet-Selch gripped his ass in his hand and spread him wide, cool air rolling over his entrance. Heat stained his cheeks, his shoulders. “You’ve got a— Where the _fuck_ do you think you’re looking?!”

The hand released his ass, hiding his entrance from sight. When Emet-Selch spoke, his voice was abundantly dry: “My, my. What a _filthy_ mouth you have. Simple questions only require simple, civil answers. I do think someone’s lost their speaking privileges.” 

And just like that, the gag was back in his mouth. 

This time it hardly mattered if he bit down; the tendrils weren’t made of flesh and blood, so the most he accomplished by resisting was to earn a swift swat to his rear courtesy of Emet-Selch’s hand. Blood rushed to his cheeks, staining his face with heat so intense that it almost drowned out the laughter falling above his head. Emet-Selch stroked over the sore flesh, the fabric of his gloves dragging and eliciting another choked moan. Accismus panted hotly and writhed in the Ascian’s lap. If this kept up for much longer he’d— 

“It’s been a long while since I last dabbled with a Miqo'te,” Emet-Selch admitted, his voice cutting through the din of thoughts to present itself as the bigger danger. His hand stroked along the curve of Accismus’s rear, fingers dancing along the base of his tail in clear warning of what he intended to try next. “I wonder...” he mused, the tips of his fingers just barely digging into the fur there. “Are you as sensitive here as the rest of your kin? You react so strongly to the lightest touch. Is it just my doing or are you just an especially lascivious specimen?”

The intended _fuck you_ morphed into a garbled _fuck me_ as Emet-Selch wrapped his hand around the base of his tail and stroked upwards in one fell motion. Accismus writhed in the Ascian’s lap, eyes blind to anything but the blurry light of the room as his cock swelled to full mast and leaked pitifully against Emet-Selch’s thigh. 

“Oh, I think that proved that it’s the latter,” came the amused answer. Emet-Selch dragged his fist downwards this time, going against the grain of his fur. Accismus drooled around the makeshift bridle, his eyes rolling back up into his skull. His toes curled into the bedding for leverage. He began to rut weakly against Emet-Selch’s body, every nerve standing on end. “You wear your pleasure most fetchingly. Your soul is brimming with vigor.” 

He dropped Accismus’s tail and dragged his gloved palm along his spine, a delicious pressure that had him arching into the touch. Accismus rolled his weight onto a shoulder, tipping himself sideways so he could look at the Ascian’s face. Saliva slipped past the bridle and trickled down his chin. His ears flattened against his skull. He whined, widening his eyes until he looked as pathetic as he felt. 

Emet-Selch took one look at him before clicking his tongue and snapping his fingers. In an instant Accismus found himself straddling the Ascian’s lap, his hands now bound in front of his chest and pressed against Emet-Selch with almost wanton forwardness. Emet-Selch held him loosely by the hips, his gloved hands squeezing and venturing towards his waist then back down to fondle his stinging, sore ass. 

“What is it, Warrior?” the Ascian cooed. “Am I being too rough for you? Have we found the limit to your contrariness?”

Accismus tried for a scowl— It morphed into a look of shock as Emet-Selch kissed him in the next moment. The bridle dissolved against his tongue as Emet-Selch’s took over the task of gagging him, and within seconds he’d forgotten what he’d been angry about as his eyes fell shut entirely. His fingers tangled themselves in the fabric of Emet-Selch’s clothing—yet another reminder that the Ascian was fully clothed while he was anything but—and he gave in to the urge to deepen the kiss, Emet-Selch’s technique as flawless as the rest of him. 

The hands eventually left his hips, his ass, as Emet-Selch enveloped Accismus in an embrace. One wound around his waist while the other tangled itself in his hair, yanking out the loosened thong to let his hair fall freely around his face. Accismus tugged at the Ascian’s clothing, wrestling weakly with the bindings around his wrists; he wanted to dig his claws into the man’s shoulders, to rake his nails down his back. He settled for grinding against the firm length he felt trapped beneath him, more than eager to move things along.

Accismus had just found a rhythm that worked for him when Emet-Selch pulled away, breaking the kiss as he went. The man was infuriating like that, and he only added to it by not even having the grace to look winded as he cupped Accismus by the cheek and held him at bay, stalling his attempts to reclaim his mouth for his own. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the Ascian chided with a knowing smile. “What did I say about being presumptuous?”

And just like that, Accismus went from slack-jawed to snarling in half a second flat. He grabbed Emet-Selch by the collar and bared his teeth with a hiss. “I’ll knock you flat and ride you, Emet-Selch,” he snarled. 

Emet-Selch’s eyes glinted at the threat. He removed a hand from Accismus’s waist. “I suppose you haven’t learned your lesson then,” he sighed, raising his hand in a gesture that had Accismus recoiling. “Pity. That was such a sweet kiss too.”

“Wh—”

_Snap!_

The world inverted. Accismus felt rough cotton sheets press against his bare back. His hands were still bound in front of him and were powerless to do him any good as new bursts of tendrils snaked down his body, looping around his chest to bind his elbows together before crisscrossing and multiplying until his body was a patchwork of shadow and exposed skin. 

At the foot of the bed stood Emet-Selch, his golden eyes reduced to a thin sliver of color as the pupils took over completely. 

“Forgive me the excess,” he said reverently, gaze momentarily flicking to Accismus’s face. “Though I think we can agree that you make a rather fetching sight like this.”

Accismus opened his mouth to disagree only to close his mouth with a clack as something wet slithered against his entrance with just enough pressure to send his train of thought slamming into a brick wall. He twisted around but the sensation refused to let up. He craned his neck and spread his legs—another ripple of shame emerging at the position that put him in—and let out a broken curse when he finally caught sight of what was touching him down there. 

Of course, realizing what it was didn’t stop the shadowy tendril from carrying on with its intended task. Accismus let out a sharp cry as it slipped inside; the tapered end was as smooth as polished glass and had no trouble at all working its way deeper, widening as it went until the stinging ache of being stretched settled at the base of his spine. Accismus stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed and sweating, and trembled pitifully. What the— Why was— 

“Emet-Selch,” Accismus panted brokenly. “Wh-What are you d-doing to me?”

Throughout the entire debacle, Emet-Selch’s eyes never left his writhing form. Through one cracked eye Accismus watched the Ascian roll his gloved hand down his front, the numerous fasteners and clasps parting to reveal the pale, bare skin beneath. Emet-Selch placed a knee on the bed and shrugged aside the bulk of his coat and undershirt. His body was toned beneath all the finery. It stole the moisture from Accismus’s mouth, making it impossible to ask a second time. 

The thickening tendril inside him didn’t help matters either. 

“If you had just been patient,” came Emet-Selch’s voice, an octave or two lower than it had been before, “I would have opened you up myself.”

Unbidden, Accismus’s eyes fell to Emet-Selch’s gloved hands. Those fucking gloves— Would he have taken them off first in that ideal world? Or would he have kept them on, forcing Accismus to feel every single textured digit as they drove into him and spread him open? Knowing Emet-Selch, both were possible. He knew what he preferred though. 

The thought alone coaxed more moisture to the tip of his cock. 

Accismus closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensations. His tail curled around his thigh, his legs spreading wider, feet bracing against the bed to bear down on the tendril filling him up. That dull ache in the base of his spine had grown into a delicious tension. He moaned wantonly and rocked against the bed. So close. Just a little more— 

And then a hand wrapped around his ankle, dragging him across the sheets with one strong pull. 

Accismus tore open his eyes and flushed a bright red when he found Emet-Selch hovering over him, chest bare, his eyes boring into him like he held the answers to all of life’s questions. The tendril inside him stopped moving, widening incrementally before extracting itself entirely and leaving him empty and painfully hard. Accismus writhed throughout the process, panting heavily, struggling towards that tempting peak that was rapidly vanishing from reach with every moment that passed. 

“Come on,” he gasped, hooking a thigh around Emet-Selch’s hip to get closer to that bulge hiding in his trousers. “Come on, come on, don’t fucking tease me like this!”

But Emet-Selch stayed put, hovering just far enough away that Accismus couldn’t get friction no matter how hard he tried to wriggle closer to him. 

Tossing his head, Accismus brought his bound hands towards the Ascian’s trousers. He bared his teeth when that snapped Emet-Selch into action, but just to grab him by the shadowy tendril and force his arms over his head, somehow fastening them flat against the bed. Accismus let out a frustration growl as he yanked at the binding, rejecting the loss of movement. He struggled and Emet-Selch watched him through half-lidded eyes. 

Eventually Accismus grew too tired to keep it up. He went limp as he panted heavily, sweat coating his skin and his cock still just as hard and flushed as it had been when all of this started to spin out of control. His thigh fell from its spot on Emet-Selch’s hip. He blinked through bleary eyes at the Ascian hovering over him, more than a little embarrassed at how composed Emet-Selch still looked while half-dressed and that fucking hungry looking. Why the hell hadn’t he done something yet? He was all but begging for it— Where did Emet-Selch get off on riling him up like this?

“Have you finally calmed down?” the Ascian asked as Accismus focused on catching his breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly, stuttering when Emet-Selch finally— _finally—_ deigned to settle the tips of his fingers against his thigh and drag them higher, stroking him gently enough to elicit a few tremors that couldn’t be blamed on the exhaustion. “So much energy in such a small body. It’s a wonder you’ve still got so much fight left in you. Though…” Emet-Selch gave him a knowing once over, a smile gilding his lips. “Not quite as much as you started with. I’ll take that success to my grave.”

Accismus felt his ears flatten against his head. His cheeks burned with a sudden heat that had him averting his eyes and long for a place to hide his face. His breathing stuttered as that hand laid itself flat against his flank, fingers curling around his hip, squeezing gently and… 

In the blink of an eye, Emet-Selch seized him beneath the thigh and hitched his leg into the air. A rush of air left Accismus’s lungs. Emet-Selch snapped his free hand. Instead of another jarring change in position or more tendrils, Accismus saw the Ascian’s trousers open, his long, flushed cock emerging with a few coaxing strokes of the man’s hand. Every drop of moisture in Accismus’s mouth dried up in that instant. His hole clenched around nothing. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be that way for much longer. 

Emet-Selch pumped his cock in his gloved hand, something glistening and wet coating the silken flesh with every pass of his palm. Oil of some sort, maybe more of the same that had coated the tendril that had gone inside him. Accismus couldn’t know, didn’t particularly want to think about it too hard. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Emet-Selch’s cock though. It was gorgeous, long and thick and nestled in a tidy bed of dark brown curls. He wanted it inside him _yesterday._

“You want this, don’t you? The lofty, lauded hero craving the touch of his sworn enemy.” Emet-Selch laughed quietly to himself at the irony of it all. He rocked a little harder against Accismus, eliciting another choked moan. “Will you ask for it now, I wonder? Or have all of my efforts thus far been for naught?”

Accismus blinked, licking his lips only to catch himself in the middle of the act. He flushed and fought the urge to hid his face in one of his raised arms. The blunt head of Emet-Selch’s cock rubbing suddenly against his entrance startled him into giving up on the idea of hiding at all. His eyes fell shut as he let out a broken moan. He clenched around nothing, aching to be filled. 

“Please,” he croaked, too strung out to manage something like pride anymore. His tail tightened around his thigh, as submissive as he’d ever been. “Please. Fuck me.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely start.” Emet-Selch rewarded him with the tip of his cock, stretching him wide as he slowly, glacially, began to enter him. The laugh that followed was a little strained, the Ascian’s cheeks flushing high with color as he bit his lip and enjoyed the moment as much as Accismus did. “Keep that up, won’t you? The lesson won’t be learned otherwise.”

That didn’t bode well, but thinking about it was difficult when Emet-Selch bottomed out inside of him. Accismus threw back his head and let out a loud yowl, every limb trembling as he tried fruitlessly to gather himself. Emet-Selch rocked forward and back, teasingly slow. He seemed in no rush. No rush at all…

“You’re not going to let me come, are you?” Accismus panted, the realization bringing a pained smile to his face.

“Hmm… no,” Emet-Selch answered after faux deliberation. His lazy thrusts had slowed to a crawl and Accismus clawed the bedding as a fresh wellspring of need tore through him, rattling through his frame as if determined to tear his willpower to shreds. “I don’t think I will.”

“F-Figures.” And it really, really did. Sex with an Ascian couldn’t be a casual affair; the nature of the act simply wouldn’t allow for it. Accismus swallowed the whine building in the base of his throat and rocked weakly against the sheets in hopes of somehow getting more friction that way. He couldn’t bring himself to stop smiling, even as Emet-Selch pressed down on his hips to keep him still, denying him even that. “You get ah—! Fuck! You get off on being withholding.”

The bands of darkness around his wrists trembled and tightened. Emet-Selch laughed and rewarded him with a half-assed thrust that dragged so slowly that it made Accismus’s tail bristle in response. “Oh, don’t sound so bitter, love,” the man crooned, releasing a hand to grab at his tail, squeezing gently as he dragged his closed fist down the length of it. Accismus’s vision blurred, mouth slackening as a dull, desperate tingling rolled through him. “Good boys get rewards. Be good for me; perhaps I’ll take pity on you then.”

Accismus wanted to cry; what had he been doing up to this point then? He’d put up with more than enough to warrant an orgasm or six! “You play so dirty,” he tried, aching and caught between purring and yowling. Emet-Selch took his sweet time in fucking him, dragging out with mind-numbing patience just to slide back in without even a hint of the fervor running through Accismus’s veins. “You fuck like the old man you are,” he snapped, clenching down, thrashing as much as his position would allow. “C’mon, c’mon, _c’mon!”_

Emet-Selch clicked his tongue. He stopped moving completely. “That doesn’t sound like a good boy at all,” he mourned, looking down on Accismus with nary a hair out of place to suggest he was balls-deep in a hot, needy body. The artful tumble of his hair fanning out over his eyes was far too composed for the moment, so much so that it made Accismus blush with shame at his own pathetic state in comparison. “Really now, is this any way to behave after all the trouble I’ve gone to with you? It’s as if you’d like it if I lost a little control.”

Like the villain he was, he said all of that while bottoming out in Accismus excruciatingly slow. Every inch of his glacial thrust dragged against Accismus’s nerves. His eyes rolled back in his head. He arched like a bowstring drawn taut and still, Emet-Selch refused to give him what he wanted. 

“Fuck me like this and I’ll doubt you even can,” he snapped, squirming in the vague hope of fucking himself since Emet-Selch seemed determined to put in as little effort as possible. 

“Do you really want me to go faster?”

“I want you to put your fucking back into it, old man.”

Emet-Selch smiled, the expression more wolf than man. He tightened his grip on Accismus’s leg. “Very well,” he said smoothly. “You asked for it.”

The smarmy taunt on Accismus’s lips morphed into a breathless yelp as he skidded across the sheets in the wake of Emet-Selch’s rough thrust. Air left his lungs, his eyes rolling back, but before he could gather himself to recover, it happened again. And again. Emet-Selch gripped him by the thigh and hip and dragged him back onto his cock, unleashing an onslaught of vigor that simply hadn’t existed before. 

Accismus stared at Emet-Selch in horror as the Ascian grinned at him from on high. No words passed between them, at least not verbally. Plenty was exchanged in that look though. Enough to let Accismus know that he had, once again, underestimated the man he’d allowed into his bed. 

Conversation ceased, verbal and non-verbal alike. The bed screeched against the floor, the rough wooden headboard hammering against the wall as Emet-Selch pounded into him like a piston in some Garlean monstrosity. Sweat stung Accismus’s eyes. It coated his naked skin. The aether around his wrists kept him from grabbing at Emet-Selch or touching himself, but to be honest, Accismus didn’t think that would matter in the end. It was too good, too much. Even if Emet-Selch hadn’t picked up the pace, the sight of the tightly-laced Ascian unhinged like this did something terrible to Accismus’s self-control too. 

Accismus sank his sharp teeth into his bottom lip and closed his eyes, the image of those golden eyes locked on him, drinking him in, possessive and greedy like he’d won something more than just a night of pleasure with this little game of his. He arched his spine, twisted his hips, making sure that every punishing thrust hit him right… there…! His moans reached a fever pitch, so loud that he knew those gathered outside must be able to hear. 

So close. He was so fucking close and— 

“Oh, not so fast, darling,” Emet-Selch growled as he snapped his fingers. Accismus’s eyes opened in an instant. He cried out as he watched a band of dark shadow coil around the base of his cock, stopping his orgasm in its tracks. The peak built higher and higher, Emet-Selch crowing out a laugh as he gripped Accismus by the thigh and used it as a handle as he fucked into him so hard that Accismus’s cries rose and fell with every thrust of his hips. Tears poured down his face. Emet-Selch groaned loudly, and then a rush of wet heat joined the cock rammed inside him.

“N-No,” Accismus sobbed, struggling weakly against the bedding as he realized what Emet-Selch had just done inside him. “Oh, gods, please. Please, don’t stop. Don’t— You c-can’t—”

Emet-Selch rocked forward with a deep, sated groan as he fucked his way through his afterglow, cock softening by the second. He leaned down, his body weight pressing Accismus’s leg to his chest as he muffled his desperate panting with a kiss that stung for all its sweetness. “Look at these tears,” he crooned, squeezing Accismus’s thigh, palming over his flat stomach, ghosting his fingers over his twitching, flushed cock still bound up tightly with aether. “Poor thing. Poor little darling.”

Accismus cried freely now. Emet-Selch wasn’t filling him the way he had before and it offered almost no relief from the lust burning like fire in his veins. “Please,” he kept saying, lost to everything but that teasing pleasure, the thought of getting off. “Pl-Please.”

“You know what you have to say, love,” Emet-Selch told him, his voice gentle and kind as his eyes danced with glee. His fingers trailed up the length of Accismus’s cock. “One little phrase from you and I’ll end this misery for you.”

The game was over. It’d been over from the moment it had begun. Accismus couldn’t feel bad about it, couldn’t feel bad about anything so long as it promised him as much as Emet-Selch’s gloved fingers did in that moment. He bit his lip and tossed his head, choking down a sob as Emet-Selch kissed him once more, teasingly, before giving the Ascian what he’d wanted all along.

“Please,” he cried, lips tracing Emet-Selch’s before the Ascian pulled away to watch him from on high. Accismus shook, desperate. “Y-You win! Gods, I yi— yield!”

“Finally,” Emet-Selch chuckled as he wrapped his hand around Accismus’s aching cock. Accismus let out a weak gasp as the aether around his base vanished all at once. “Was that so difficult?”

And Accismus came, just like that. 

Come striped his chest, hot and viscous, barely felt as the torrential pleasure rushed over him in a wave that threatened to drown him dead. His body stiffened and twitched, limbs tingling and mouth hanging open as his eyes rolled up in his head. The room vanished in a flood of white, an intoxicating warmth numbing him from the pain in his joints. 

Distantly, Accismus noted that Emet-Selch watched him through the whole thing. He could feel those eyes on him, hear the rich tones of his voice as he commented on what he saw, though the words he used went in one ear and out the other. Emet-Selch pulled out of him, leaving him empty and wet. The bindings around his wrists faded away. Accismus closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against the sheets. The Ascian had made a mess of him, and knowing him, he had no intention of cleaning him up before he went on his merry way.

Accismus expected Emet-Selch to take his leave quickly; he wasn’t prepared for the bed to dip though, for the weight of another body to settle in at his side. 

Opening his eyes, he looked blankly at the man sharing his pillow. A flush had risen to the sharp peaks of Emet-Selch’s cheekbones, his hair mussed and sticking to his skin from a thin layer of perspiration. The outer layer of the Ascian’s outfit was no longer clinging to his shoulders. He must have shrugged it off before laying down, and the loss of it made it clear that Emet-Selch’s shoulders were actually that broad and not just another illusion built from Garlean fashion sensibilities.

“Back with me then?” Emet-Selch whispered, a smile rising to gild his generous mouth. He brought a hand to his lips, biting down on the tip of his glove to remove it as Accismus watched. “You did surprisingly well, your mortal stamina notwithstanding.” His hand settled on Accismus’s head, stroking through his hair, scratching lighting behind his ears. Accismus’s eyes fluttered shut as a low purr crackled to life in the depths of his chest. He couldn’t swallow it down anymore. He felt too comfortable like this, too relaxed. 

He cracked his eyes when the hand began to venture lower, stroking his cheek before curling around his chin. This time, when Emet-Selch’s thumb pressed against his bottom lip, Accismus let it proceed without a fight. He laved his clumsy tongue against the pad of the digit. He let Emet-Selch press it deeper, the only resistance the faint fluttering of his throat as he swallowed around nothing more than the thought of what else the Ascian could put in his mouth. He’d craved that cock of his far beyond the scope of natural desire this evening. He’d dream of it tonight. Emet-Selch had made sure of that. 

“Good boy,” Emet-Selch crooned, replacing his thumb with his lips. The kiss was terribly chaste but Accismus stayed his tongue, only taking what he was given and not an onze more. Emet-Selch noticed; he pulled away with a smile Accismus could taste. “Hmm. I find myself quite fond of this mouth now that it's properly tamed. That’s how I’ll have you next time.”

Accismus shivered at the promise buried in his words. Next time. There would definitely be a next time.

They kissed again and again, lazily until sleep grew too tempting to ignore. The sounds from the other side of the wall had let up, broadcasting the late hour from that quietness alone. In between a kiss and the next, Accismus’s eyes grew too heavy to stay open; he felt the bed dip then, the sensation of a portal opening at the foot of the bed. 

Soft lips brushed over his cheek. Gentle fingers carded through his hair. “Farewell, Accismus,” that lilting voice whispered. “Do try to be lively come morning; I expect an equally good showing then.”

Cracking open an eye, Accismus blew a few strands of hair away from his face before sticking out his tongue at Emet-Selch’s retreating figure. The Ascian had dressed himself again and he looked as pristine as ever, like an added insult to the mess he’d left on the bed at his back. “Come and make me,” he tossed back, eyes too heavy to keep open for long. The fight was a token effort, more for the sake of appearances than any real determination or pride on his part. His lips quirked into a weak smile. Playing with fire. Gods, he loved it so. “I don’t… take orders from you…”

“Of course not,” Emet-Selch chuckled, his presence disappearing with the portal. At least, his physical form did. Instinct shivered at the base of Accismus’s spine just as a gentle draft brushed his cheek. 

_But I’ll still be watching you anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> woot i hope you guys enjoyed this!! i write a lot and if you liked reading this then you might enjoy my other work which can be found on my website at tdcloudofficial.com. you can also find me on twitter @tdcloud_writes where i simmer and stew in unrestrained mania over emet-selch and an assortment of other characters of dubious moral standing.


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